


Oadriax

by egzantirik



Category: Bayonetta (Video Games), Devil May Cry
Genre: Eventual Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, No Incest, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Self-Esteem Issues, Set after DMC3, Slow Burn, Work In Progress, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-11-14 10:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18050669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egzantirik/pseuds/egzantirik
Summary: Before your eyes could take in the sight of hundreds of thousands of beige feathers raining down from the sky, a sight so petrifying yet magnificent at its core, you found yourself swept off your feet by two men; one with a smile warm as the sun and one whose glare could freeze you to your core.





	1. alndvod;

You never knew them to be real: fairy tales with princess and princesses and happily-ever-afters, black-wearing and spell-spouting witches of the darkness, clawed beasts of the underworld servants of the very women who were no more than tales, servants of God and the sacred residents of a world above that was much brighter and saturated in cool-toned colors, much grander in size, much more evolved yet just as primitive at the same time and breathtakingly, phenomenally and utterly beautiful at the same time; a world promised to those who had done good deeds during the puny, limited time they were to waste away on the face of the human world. The promise of an eternity so wholesome  and tempting that it had people all over the world slaving over hours of prayers for eons, voices meek as their knees laid on the floor, hands clasped together and eyes closed in a desperate attempt to see which could not be seen for He did not exist.

 

You chalked it up to wishful thinking, a way to keep the masses under control and a means for people to appeal to others’ feelings beyond the material gifts and promises for the rich wanted all within their grasp and the poor wiping the dirty streets of the town wrapped around their fingers; you never would have believed tales of the Bible, of demons and angels, of devils and men. You never would have given a second thought to such a wild and abstruse mythological philosophy of fearless creatures thirsty for blood plaguing the underworld in a desperate attempt to break free and claw their way up to bring with them calamity and destruction, horror and inevitable death while the sacred warriors of the worlds above descended with their six feet wings spread wide open behind their backs in unembellished grace. How absurd, how theatrical, how hyperbolic.

 

Yet there it manifested itself: the sight of a thousand creatures donned in pure white, elegant beige with shades of vivid royal blue accentuating the minimalistic garments they had on and complimenting the armor that was a part of their flesh and bone. Descending down from the apex of the gray-tinted skies with what could only be immaculate and unassailable grace, the phenomenon unfolding before your eyes deeming you incapable and unable to function, completely and utterly awestruck for your two mortal eyes had never had the chance to witness something so otherworldly and so eerie.

 

Gold bands floated above their heads, gold bands, gold bands—

 

Your legs gave out under the bulk of your weight and you collapsed onto your knees with little grace when compared to what was taking place right in front of your eyes: the light that shone so bright behind the massive wings attached to their backs was so bright and so holy that even with thick feathers sheltering your eyes from the force of it, fat, salty tears rolled down the curve of your cheeks and your eyes burned before your mind could catch up to the speed at which things were unfolding, mouth agape and brows furrowed in disbelief.

 

 Feathers floated midair and rained down with each clap of massive wings, long claws wrapped around lengthy scepters made of gold and adorned in diamonds that caught the light in an unnatural way and reflected blue with each movement; light itself seemed to adorn the weapons as it was drawn to the sharp edges—some holy force had spent a great amount of time sculpting and carving finesse to bring about means of destruction. It felt as if your whole body was drenched heavy in molasses; either you could not see fast enough or those creatures that terrified you to your very core seemed to move too slow.  

 

You did not think that they were descending down the sky for you, you precisely did not _want_ to think that it could possibly have anything to do with you _at all_ ; but you **knew**. Somehow, someway, you knew. Just like the way you knew what those creatures were and where they were coming from, you knew for whom they were coming; in this empty graveyard where no one but the long rotten flesh and decayed bones of the dead resided, it was you that they wanted. If you had time to blink and keep your eyes closed for the briefest seconds, you would be able to vividly picture the way sharp claws would pierce through your fragile skin. If you strained your ears enough, you would be able to _hear_ the way sharp screams left your charred throat without you even realizing it. If you thought about it long and hard enough, you would _feel_ the pain.

 

Miracles, miracles, miracles. Another phenomenon you had never given a second thought to, another silly concept you refused to believe in not even for once, for you had never been quite lucky enough to encounter one throughout the entirety of your life. How silly, how weak— for in that very moment frozen and with death’s sharp blade pressed tight against the curve of your throat, you felt your mind wander. Wander to a possible future where you were saved from this demise by someone capable and admirable, in whose arms you would cry and weep, in whose arms you would be heavy. A possible future where in the next few split seconds you would be struck with the realization that you had been dreaming all along and that none of this truly existed further than mere fragments of your possibly overactive imagination. A future where you did not perish at your prime and young age with no one knowing of your death, no one being possibly aware of where you had disappeared off to. A future where you would be missed, you imagined.

 

Would anyone find your body once this was all over, or would you be torn to shreds and to pieces so small and tiny by those elegant weapons and nimble claws that not a single piece of you remained whole? Would they kill you first or would they have you slowly suffer with death imminent and unavoidable? Would you feel it? The sharp sting of your flesh being sliced open and your life draining out of you slowly in the form of heavy red seeping out of your body?

 

At death at least, you wanted to be noble and embrace the irrefutable truth that your life was coming to an end and soon, you would cease to exist. You wanted to acknowledge that very truth regardless of how a bitter taste it left in your mouth, you wanted to accept the weight of it with open arms and you wanted to surrender with your arms folded in front of you, head hung low and eyes closed but your fragile yet just as _human_ body betrayed you. The acceptance you sought so desperately never manifested itself in your gut; your hands in your lap trembled and your ever-flowing tears left wet trails on your cheeks for an entirely different reason born out of fear, dismay and consternation. Your knees had scraped against the pebble and the dirt on the ground from when you collapsed on them and although it did not register at first, you could now feel that the denim of your jeans were torn and your skin was open; you could feel your heartbeat on your knees and the burn of wet dirt, gravel and dust scorched the open wounds.

 

Your throat was dry and you wanted to dig your pearly white teeth into your bottom lip hard enough to break the skin and draw blood, you wanted to bawl your heart out and scream in agony, you wanted to call out for help and you wanted to get away from all of this. Except nothing seemed to work, you were moving deep in molasses; your acceptance was immaterial, shallow and fruitless.

_“Dear Lord, grant us guidance and keep safe the souls of our loved ones for all eternity.”_

 

Just as your eyelids fluttered shut and your head hang heavily between your shoulders, your eyes caught the glimpse of something that seemed oddly out of place. Slow as it were, you gaze followed the purple glow that manifested itself in midair and you found yourself drawn to it, eyes widening. Slowly, a band of purple with oddly familiar writing scribbled on it in white turned clockwise and formed an elegant circle; two oxymoronic figures complimented the circle, the moon with darkness and purple shading, the sun with everything void while an eye rested in the middle, void of pupils and sclera made up of a twirling tornado.

 

You felt a chill run down the length of your spine and blood in your veins run cold at the sight— the fact that you could recognize it alone was baffling to you, although you could not quite say _how_ you knew it or _where_ you saw it first. Slowly, white gloved and elegant fingers came through the circle, belonging to a woman so beautiful that you were stunned into silence and lost the words you had not even had to begin with. She was dressed beautifully in white, her garments were donned with lace and eerily resembled those of a nun’s. Her figure was slim and toned at the same time and a white veil covered her hair, her lips glossed and make up done in a way that complimented her sharp features. She was _tall_ , she was so tall that you knew she would dwarf you if you were to stand side by side.

 

But she was so otherworldly beautiful that you had to wonder whether she was a mortal, whether she truly existed or was an extension of your terror-induced imagination running wild in a last attempt at a comfortable death. You knew better, you knew she was real and made of flesh and bones; your mind could not possibly comprehend her elegance successfully.

 

She moved with grace and ascended up into the sky as if she were an angel, as if she were meant to do this from the very beginning, as if she belonged here. A cunning smile donned her plump lips, she seemed amused almost and you felt yourself grow weak— she was perfectly in control of a situation that had you almost wetting yourself, that had your very heart stopping in your chest and she seemed to **love** it; the thrill, the action, the stage and all eyes on her.

 

You wondered for a split second whether she was an accomplice of theirs, though your thought was short-lived for she wasted no time in clutching the scepter free from the death grip of a flying creature whose name you curiously knew to be ‘Affinity’. She moved with beauty and grace when she unleashed utter devastation and uncorrupted hell on an army of monsters, a song on her lips short and sweet were in perfect contrast with her strong kicks and punches that sent the hefty creatures flying away with little difficulty. Soon screeches and growls echoed through the air and you blinked away your tears. You could move again.

 

The woman was in perfect condition, her long heels dug into the flesh of an angel with flawless grace and she let it carry the bulk of her weight, either hand having clutched another accomplice soon to perish when she tossed them aside as if they were flimsy trash and moved along. She was so fast and agile that your gaze could hardly follow her and keep up with her, you were not able to count how many back flips she did before landing on her feet exquisitely, arms stretched out above her. As if on cue, several more defeated bodies fell victim to the gravity and slammed onto the ground, shocking you out of your hazed state and making you crawl backwards in hurry even as your knees stung and you wanted to cry at the pain of it alone.

 

Perhaps the creatures could understand her melodic voice uttering the words so easily, for she taunted them with a smirk on her lips and you distantly noted her round, black glasses and heavy British accent. She turned her undivided attention to the awaiting, fellow companions of the defeated angels, hands coming to rest on the elegant curve of her waist before she theatrically tossed a hand up, melodious and confident when she spoke,

 

_“You look tired. Let me tuck you in.”_

 

You did not know how long you watched her go at them as if it were a part of her job, you did not know how fast your heart was beating and whether the ringing in your ears would ever stop. Her sudden appearance and the swiftness with which she defeated angel after angel with ease snapped you out of your shock partially and you crawled back as far away from the scene as you could, your knees and scraped palms leaving a trail of blood as you moved. You were vividly aware of rocks and pebble digging into your skin and you hissed out lowly; the pain made you realize that you were _alive_.

 

You were alive thanks to that woman who tugged five angels in a row, who clawed at each other for some sort of stability, and twirled them around before tossing them away so each one would hit a different graveyard and meet their ends. All your senses were suddenly too sharp, your ears stained and you had to force yourself to take deep breaths in order not to die. Vaguely, you heard wailing. It sounded as if it were coming from far, far away and it echoed in the air.

 

“Oh, shit! C’mon! It’s my frickin’ birthday!”

 

You did not know if the woman heard him wailing just as clearly as you did or if she simply did not care about him long enough to acknowledge him, but she kept on taking down angel after angel without even breaking out a sweat. It was as if she were dancing an elegant dance of death and destruction, though her background music consisted of nothing but a continuous stream of wailing and ‘Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god—” from the same man. Your eyes curiously looked over, trying to find the source of the crying and locate where exactly the man begging for his life was, but you could not see anything other than dead bodies, broken wings and thousands of shining halos scattered all over the ground, illuminating the place in an odd way.

 

“I didn’t mean all that Humpty Dumpty shit I swear!”

 

You heard the same man cry out again, and you wondered where he was. How was he affected by all this if you could not even see him? Then again, what exactly was all this thing taking place right in front of your eyes? It was another thing that was not supposed to exist, it was just as unnatural, so you assumed that hearing the cries of a man you could not exactly see did not necessarily take the top on the list of things that scared you shitless and almost had you wetting yourself.

 

Briefly, your ears deafened when something burst and sent the angels flying, accompanied by a roar of something that vaguely sounded like, ‘Go!!!!!’, but you were too busy watching the woman line up a long queue of angels in a way that forced them to clutch each other in desperation so she could lift them all up and slam them to the ground as if they weighed nothing— which you assumed was far from the reality seeing as to how bulky those creatures were with their armors made of gold and diamond, with their wings stretching out long and wide behind them and yet, she had the ground shaking with the force of her movement.

_“Do you naughty little angels deserve a good spanking?”_

 

She taunted yet again and kept on her dance, until it was cut short by sharp claws tearing at her clothing— you thought that would hinder her, but with a swift movement of her body, she was bare. Light was shining on her in an unnatural way, and you thought you could not breathe when her long, black locks flowed free from her veil, tied up to a large ponytail intricately with long, red strips curled around tresses delicately. Strands of hair lined up perfectly on her milky, bare skin and when she tossed her arms up theatrically, they manifested into black, leather clothing wrapped around her frame tightly; leaving her back exposed. White gloves turned red in her palms and went up to her elbows, where her outfit ended in kimono-like sleeves. Even her glasses changed; went from round, thin ones to square ones with butterfly carvings on the earpieces instead.

 

She went from gorgeous to absolutely breathtaking and you were sure that she was no mere mortal right then and there; from the way she made her hair manifest into her clothing to the half moon that decorated her cleavage, from the way she carried herself to the way she landed elegantly on her heeled feet. She was ethereal and you felt drawn to her beauty, your battered palms took your weight so you could relieve the pressure on your injured knees. You wanted to look at her, to see her closer even as your skin throbbed painfully and even as your eyes watered again.

 

“ **Bayonetta**!”

 

A gruff voice exclaimed and it echoed in your head, making you whip your head around to see where the _hell_ all these people were, except you could not see anyone yet again, only scattered halos and blood painting the graveyard. It was then something caught your eye, way ahead where the air was thin and the light reflected unnaturally— when you squinted your eyes, you could almost see the silhouette of a chubby man with his lips agape, right next to him a very bulky person. They were not even transparent, they looked as if they were sculpted out of silver when the light caught on them in an unnatural way; they were _not_ there but they were at the same time and you found yourself looking back at the goddess of a woman with the exclamation. So her name was Bayonetta.

 

Bayonetta watched with mild interest the way something moved at her, you were concerned for a second that it would hit her but she seemed to be a willing receiver. Her index finger drew a circle and the same purple circle from before with the sun and the moon manifested itself in midair. Her delicate fingers went to her glossed lips and she pressed a chaste kiss to them before holding the same hand out as if she were blowing a kiss to the circle, and you watched in daze until gunshots echoed in the air one after another, another and another, until your ears rung and you closed your eyes as if it would help you block out the sound. She reached for something right between her legs, another purple circle and she had another gun with which she sent tens of bullets flying to and right through those angels.

 

_“Now, this is cheeky. Throwing me these cheap toys.”_

 

She remarked when she landed on her heels on a grave, eyes scrutinizing as they took in the sight and the apparent low quality of the guns, which were unknown to you. She tossed them over her shoulder and instead grabbed new ones, you could not see where she was getting them from but it helped her absolutely annihilate the creatures without even doing so much as tripping over her feet once. She was an actress just as she was a goddess that threaded light on her feet, her voice was cheery and she smiled, blew a kiss to no one in particular and hummed.

 

_“As long as there’s music, I’ll keep on dancing.”_

 

Soon she was done and not a single creature remained alive and you were rendered absolutely and utterly speechless at the way she moved. You had to talk to her, you were drawn to her, you had so many questions to ask! _What_ were they, what exactly happened, what was _she_? How did she do it, who were those people you could hear but not see, what the hell happened and what the hell did you have to do not to have it happen to you ever, ever again?

 

“Bayonetta!”

 

You called out despite yourself, as if you had known her for years which could not have been farther from the truth; you did not even know for sure if that was her name, you simply assumed that it was from the way she responded to it earlier. You hoped it was, you did not want to make an ass of yourself in front of the woman to whom you owed your life— miracles, miracles, miracles you had chastised yourself before and yet, right then and there, she was your miracle. She was the reason why you were still alive, she was the reason why you could look at her from where you were on your knees with nothing but admiration and adoration in your eyes.

 

_“Oh, dear. You can **see** me.”_

 

That seemed to catch her attention and her eyes widened when she saw you, curled up into a corner right below where the iron fencing around the graveyard ended, on your hands and knees. Her gaze made you oddly conscious of yourself and you realized how terribly you must look: snot running down your nose, tears wet on your cheeks still. On your knees, you looked absolutely desperate for help, some sort of an explanation and a possible way out of all this and you knew that she could just offer you one. You did not know how, but you knew that she would— even in your clouded mind, you could see that she was some sort of a benevolent, angelical creature. While you despaired in absolute misery, she was the one to parade with confidence and save you.

 

_“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here?”_

 

She inquired with mild interest as she walked over to you and you realized how correct you were in your previous assumption, even as she knelt down in front of you with liquid elegance, you were absolutely dwarfed by her size. Oddly enough, she was not threatening, she seemed to be genuinely confused to see you there. Were you not supposed to be there? You did not even know how it all happened; you did not know how you could explain it all to her or if you could explain it all to her at all, and as her delicate hands rested on your biceps to help you stand up you could not stop your babbling.

 

“I— I don’t know how I ended up here! I came here and I mean I just _moved_ here and I wanted to go out on a walk because it gets pretty stuffy in the suburbs and I was just so overwhelmed and I didn’t even know how but— beforeIknewittheywerecomingformeandIcouldn’tdoanything!!”

 

The anxiety finally caught up to you and it was all you could do not to break down in front of her, luckily Bayonetta shouldered most of your weight, even when she masterfully kicked a leg up to shoot an angel that thought it could get the drop on her. It ended up dead, though, falling down and off the graveyard with a loud thunk— you realized that no corpse had hit the ground, so it must have fallen lower and landed on something else, possibly metal. Your hands were clutching her tightly, your head buried just below her chest— next to her, you were so small, so tiny that you would be scared had her presence not offered you comfort instead.

_“It’s alright, dove. Let’s get you out of Purgatory first, shall we?”_

 

Her voice was soothing and you were so grateful for it, you were so grateful to her. You were alive, you were alive, you were alive!!! Your knees throbbed painfully now that the realization that you were _safe and sound and alive_ sunk in fully, your legs weak and unable to carry your own weight. You wondered whether you were heavy on her, but when you blinked the sight of her tossing and turning creatures that weighed thrice as you so effortlessly came to mind and you were worried less. Her index finger came up again to draw a circle midair, although it was noticeably larger this time to consequently create a much larger circle, circumference large enough for both of you to effortlessly pass through it.

_“Something tells me I’m going to regret this.”_

 

When you stepped through the circle, the air left your lungs and you found yourself gasping and clutching at your chest desperately to breathe, breaking into a coughing fit. You still could not see anyone so you wondered whether it was all in your head, but you also could no longer see the battered, dead angel bodies or the bright halos that littered the ground almost decoratively thanks to Bayonetta’s efforts and her beautiful dance. The colors of the world, of the sky— everything was noticeably more saturated now, even in the darkness of the night and it took your eyes a bit to adjust to the change. What ha even happened?

 

“What happened, what’s going on? How did I— what were those things?! How did I— What are _you_?!”

 

Your throat was dry, you desperately wanted answers, at least _an answer_. Singular. How did you end up with hundreds of angels hovering above you, how did you end up surviving that? What would have happened had she not come to save you, what would have happened to you then? You already knew the answer, you already knew that you would be less alive, but you still could not believe it. Your mind was not able to catch up with your body, even as you wheezed and tried to breathe regardless of how helpless you looked, your mind still could not wrap around the fact that you had almost died. No, you had almost _been_ killed. Slaughtered. Hunted. By otherworldly creatures whose existence you vehemently denied and constantly ridiculed. They existed, holy shit they existed!!!

_“I usually don’t play the savior, but I guess I don’t mind the feeling every now and then.”_

 

Bayonetta did not seem to be fazed by your constant, incessant babbling for she leaned down to your height and placed a hand on your back and the other  on the back of your knees to pick you up like a little child, your arms instinctively wrapping around her neck— when her hair swayed behind her like a veil, a curtain of clothes, you could feel it brush against your skin and how soft it was. You would have been mortified when she leaped off the graveyard had you not seen her move just minutes ago, instead you found comfort in someone you had never known before and sunk into her embrace. Moments later, her feet touched the ground elegantly and you did not even feel a single thing, only slight breeze brushing against your skin when she leaped.

 

_“Now, about this little thing you’ve been looking into for me, Enzo... Let’s have a quick chat.”_

 

She hummed as she carefully placed you back on your feet. You assumed she was not the kind of person to show acts of kindness so openly, so easily yet she felt responsible for some reason, so she indulged— she might not be the kind of person to indulge, you realized, but she still cared enough about you to help you onto your feet, to get you out of that place and to be considerate enough given that you were not in peak condition. Your knees were wobbly, you assumed it was more out of fear and the fact that adrenaline was slowly disintegrating than the pebble and dirt still on your skin.

 

“See! This is why I told ya I was goin’ home! I just got held up in the air by some… invisible— wait, who the hell is that?! Where dd you even find this girl?!”

 

Exclaimed a chubby, middle-aged man wearing what appeared to be a rather cheap suit and an admittedly stupid fedora at your sudden appearance; he was not the kind of person you would have remembered or paid attention to at all otherwise, he was simply plain and uninteresting. He seemed loud and obnoxious, he seemed selfish and self-centered. When you were subjected to his brash questioning of you, as if you were not even presently there, you found yourself taking in his appearance and noting the slight but still detectable bite of Italian accent in his voice. He was splayed on a bright red car, however, he did not exactly look as if he were resting on for a moment or two as he awaited Bayonetta’s return for the car had a dent the exact size and shape of his figure, so you concluded that the crash from earlier was the bulk of his weight falling into the vehicle and ending up having dented it so terribly that he would eventually and inevitably have to pay a fortune for it if he ever wanted to get it fixed. So he was called that, huh? Enzo.

**“Never took you for the sorta gal to do charity work, huh, Bayonetta?”**

 

A gruff voice huffed when Bayonetta did not exactly acknowledge the chubby man and his accusative tone, you recognized that it belonged to the same man from whom you learned her name when he exclaimed it to capture his attention earlier. Moments later, gunshots resonated so he was most likely an arms dealer. Now, he was someone you would listen to or look twice at in any other situation, someone who could not easily be eradicated from one’s memory and consciousness with how distinctive he looked. He was a tall, very tall and by that you meant he was almost as tall as if not taller than Bayonetta herself, bald, black male in his late 20’s. he had shades on and they were so black that it distorted your vision and across his head were tribal looking swirls and markings tattooed in black ink, seeping down to his sharp, angular features.

 

What baffled you the most about him was that he did not feel human and it was when you saw him that you realized Bayonetta felt more natural than he did— he was mysterious and eerie, he felt otherworldly but not as ethereal as he felt deadly, as if he were a monster lurking in the shadows to prey on others. He was a dangerous man, he was someone to be vary of and someone who did not care much for pleasantries. In a way, he was no better than the chubby man who did not even acknowledge you, but you were not brave enough to chastise him even in your mind and very, very quietly. You could feel his pointed gaze scrutinizing on your fragile frame, but you could not exactly _see_.

 

“ _What_ _can_ _I_ _say_ , _it_ _seems_ _I_ _cannot_ _help_ _myself_ _every_ _now_ _and_ _then_. _After_ _all_ , _it_ _feels_ _quite_ _refreshing_ _to_ _be_ _a_ _hero_. _Though_ _I_ _cannot_ _be_ _bothered_ _with_ _babysitting_. _That_ _is_ _where_ _you_ _own_ _up_ _to_ _all_ _the_ _favors_ _you_ owe _me_ , _Enzo_.”

 

You soundlessly watched the events take place right in front of your eyes. After all, what could you even say? You wanted to speak up, say that you wanted to go back to your place, the place you had been calling ‘home’, so you could hole yourself up in your room and relax but you knew better than to think too much and too hard about that let alone voice it to the three. You were only alive and able to stand on your otherwise trembling legs because you were petrified still in shock.

 

You wanted to go back _home_ , you really did. Your knees hurt, the insides of your palms hurt. Your head hurt and you wanted to cry, your throat hurt and your nose would not stop running. You wanted to be able to relax, sink into the comfort of your soft sheets and close your eyes so you could forget that this day had even happened in the first place, purge the memory from your consciousness that you ever wanted to take a walk so you foolishly left in the middle of the night, lost your way and found yourself in a graveyard. You wanted it all gone, but you knew better. You knew better.

 

You would close the door and break down the second your hand touched the handle, you would choke on your own spit that you could not manage to swallow for the lump in your throat would not allow you. You would still be in a daze, simply alone and unbelieving. You knew what that could entail, you could potentially harm yourself in ways that would leave you ashamed simply because you needed affirmation that you were _alive_. You would not be proud of yourself, you would break down for different reasons entirely. You would crumble on yourself in the confines of your shitty place and maybe, it would prove to be way too challenging to survive the day. You would perish in silence, perhaps, if only it meant that you would not have to live through the fear of being devoured alive once again.

 

What could you do? You knew that you had nothing to do with anyone at all— you did not know any shady people nor did you indulge in questionable activities and hobbies. You were normal, terribly plain and scared. You were absolutely and utterly human and in the presence of such people and things most importantly, you felt inferior. You felt vain, weak. You had long left everything and everyone behind, found yourself in Europe doing anything and everything for a living from working as an employee in a fast-food chain, a secretary, a waitress, a cleaner, a janitor, dishwasher, carrier— anything and everything as long as you got paid enough to make a living for yourself and save just enough money in case. The sound of Enzo huffing and trying to capture the others’ attention was in vain and it was drowned out by your thoughts, his wailing and huffing foreign to you.

 

“Hey! Hey, Bayonetta, Rodin! What’s goin’ on!”

 

Even if you felt as if you did not belong there, even if you felt as if you would never belong anywhere, you wanted to go home.

 

“Dammit, I got caught up in somethin’ again!”

 

But you could not. You did not call the shots here, you did not know what they were planning on doing with you— Bayonetta had saved you but that did not mean she would be on your side forever. She herself had said that she would not be a babysitter, did she not? She would cast you aside best case scenario, worst case she would kill you for inconveniencing her. No, no! You had to stop, keep your anxiety from catching up and seeping in to what appeared to be a logical process of though. She saved you, so she did not have a reason to kill you. You would survive, that was for certain. At what cost however, you did not know. Perhaps they would sell you? Perhaps they would use you? After all, you were in no position to defend yourself, you were in no shape or form capable enough to—

**“You noticed?”**

 

You gulped when that same gruff voice snapped you out of your thoughts. Noticed what? He was looking at you still, boots heavy on the wet dirt as he walked closer to inspect you and you were absolutely dwarfed by his height. It was nothing short of instinctive when you took a few steps back on shaky legs, cautious.

_“I have indeed. It is hard not to.”_

 

Bayonetta agreed and you realized that she was looking at you the same way the tall man was looking at you, accusative and questioning, as if she were trying to wring out an answer to an unasked question, except you did not know what the question was. You did not even know what was happening, and yet they expected answers? It was gauging, slow as if they wanted to strip you to your bits and unearth the secrets you kept hidden. Except you did not. You had no idea what they were even looking for. It must have been apparent on your face and the way you looked at them, because Bayonetta averted her gaze to her acquaintance and they shared a look before they came to a silent agreement.

 

**_“Enzo.”_ **

 

The both spoke simultaneously and turned back to the male who had long jumped down the roof of the car and was seated inside it comfortably instead. He looked like a deer caught in headlights and he ducked as if he were trying to and successfully could if he tried hard enough, fade away from their sight into another world entirely. You had not noticed that his fat fingers were desperately turning the keys and trying to get the car started until the engine huffed and puffed in defiance— you realized why he was so scared then. He was trying to flee and you doubted it would happen.

 

“Look, look! I know I owe you two, but c’mon! This has nothin’ to do with me!!”

 

He wailed again, pointing at you when he said ‘this’. It was really getting on your nerves, this guy’s behavior towards you. You knew you were being a nuisance, you knew you were causing a change in plans. What else could you do? All of this were things that occurred out of your control, you were a victim in this. You had just almost died, for god’s sake! Nobody had to take care of you, you were well aware of the fact that they were not obliged in the slightest, but then again, they had to realize that you were not exactly asking them for help! Technically, you wailed for Bayonetta to save you, but you did not want them to lull you to sleep at night!

**“You got other contacts, don’tcha? Hook her up with someone.”**

 

The other man said in a way that did not leave much room for argument, including on your part as well. After all, you were supposed to go along with it all, were you not? How absurd. You finally snapped— these three communicated between themselves and talked about you as if you were not even there, as if you were some artifact they came across and did not know what to do with. You still had a personality, a life to set straight, things to get to!

 

“Wait a minute! What’s the meaning of this, what do you mean ‘Hook her up with someone’?! I don’t even know what happened, and you want me to go with a bunch of people I’ve never seen before just because they _told_ me to do so?! I— I don’t even know **how** I got here, **why** this happened! **Who** are you people?!”

 

Silence hung heavily in the air and all eyes turned to you at your exclamation, you knew that you were right. They knew things that you did not, things that you could not so easily comprehend even if they just told you to do so. It was not that simple, angels? Eight feet tall ladies effortlessly killing angels? Contacts? What the hell was even going on? You still could not understand how you knew what they were called, you still could see the surprise in Bayonetta’s beautiful green eyes when she realized that you could actually _see_ her. What did that even mean, you were not supposed to see her? Where were the two men when Bayonetta fought the monsters, you could hear them but not see them! Only silver reflections, only light broken in odd places that mirrored a vague image.

 

You were hurt, you were tired and you were most certainly out of breath. A hand tugged at your chest as if you could physically relieve yourself of the incoming panic attack, trying to tune out everything else other than the beating of your heart which did not really help given how fast it was beating. What would happen to you now? What would happen if you saw those monsters coming for you again, descending down the skies with elegance? What would you do if Bayonetta was not there again, per se, if you were not as **lucky** again? You needed protection, you needed to—

**“Angels. Demons. Everythin’ in between. They exist. They come for ‘er, we kill ‘em and I make a living off of it. Enzo ‘ere gives us the info we need, he’s an information broker. Y’saw Bayonetta in action. And I’m… well. I’m a bartender.”**

 

That was it? That was his explanation? He was a bartender. Enzo was an information broker. Bayonetta was a… a what with super strength and gravity-defying moves and never-ending bullets that brought upon relentless devastation upon them? Did he really expect you to take that all in just like that, with a snap of your fingers? Your throat was dry, you really needed some water and angels and demons existed. Sure, sure. Obviously. You could not have thought of that on your own, really. How nice of him to help you out, ‘Oh, angels and demons are real and you almost died, by the way,’. Okay. I did not know that.

_“You ended up in Purgatory. Portals don’t usually open on their own, sometimes rips occur in space-tine continuum that make it easy to exploit their weaknesses. There are experts who can use magic to trigger them open at will. There are no traces of a rip, an anomaly. So either you must have done that, or...”_

 

Okay, science lessons. Rips in what? Space-time continuum? Wait, magic? You opened what? How did you even do that, you just wanted to take a goddamned walk around the country before you lost your way and found yourself trapped in a graveyard. How convenient, if anyone had found you they would have no qualms about burying you there. Ironic. Again, you did what exactly? Or what? Who else was in this equation, demons? Fucking God himself? At this point you were more confused than before, frustrated and lost. What were you supposed to do?!

 

“…or what?”

 

Was that really your voice? You sounded so lost, so husky, so tired already. Your shoulders sagged and your breath caught in your throat, you could not seem to be able to swallow properly. What a mess. What an absolute shit show. You used to be decent, you thought you were pretty good at holding your own against crises and getting by yourself. You thought you could stand up  for yourself and keep your cool times like these. You were an idiot.

**“Or somethin’ dragged you in. Either way, y’need someone ta look inta the matter. Things like this happen, it ain’t unusual for the unlucky.”**

 

Something dragged you in. something dragged you into the purgatory? And how did they do that exactly, and **why** did they do that exactly? What use could you be to them, you could n o t be any use to them at all. Unless these angels they were talking about were carnivores and fed on young and prime human flesh and bathed in human blood to better their complexion or something, in which case you assumed it would make sense. Then again, what did not make sense to begin with was the fact that angels were not… _angels_. Sweet lullabies, God’s fighters and finest creations who brought upon nothing but peace and serenity… they were violent. They were deadly.

 

“Guh! I was supposed to go back home, eat the birthday cake my girls got for me, kick back and relax! Dammit. I guess I know someone. You got cash?”

 

You did have cash. Cash. So it was a profession. Where was he going to take you, to some crazy mercenary? The likelihood of a human being able to keep you safe from, well, angels seemed so thin that you almost could not believe your ears. Then again, the black man said that he made a living off of it. What kind of a business was that, why had you never heard of it? If this Enzo guy who relented at last was an information broker, what kind of information did he provide his clients with?

 

“We need a phone.”

 

Enzo said, trying his chances at working the car once again. Bayonetta and the black man, however, remained passive and looked at you instead. Bayonetta was twirling a lollipop between plump lips as if it were a toy, uninterested and an arm crossed over her midsection so she could lean her elbow onto her hand, nimble fingers holding the treat. The other man walked to you and held out a card instead, which you accepted after a few minutes of stunned silence. It read, ‘Gates of Hell’. There was a name and a number scribbled on the paper. Rodin. So that was his name?

 

**“Just in case.”**

He said, and you nodded. Soon enough, all four of you were stuffed in the car with Bayonetta sitting in the passenger seat and Rodin and you in the back, huddled close due to his large frame. You thought they would tag along, but Enzo dropped Rodin and Bayonetta off somewhere and you drove in silence, only speaking when needed to give the address to your home. Home. To which you were taking a man you never knew, a man who could kidnap you and kill you and torture you for all you knew. It was easy to trust Bayonetta, and somewhat less difficult to see Rodin as a threat after he gave you his contact information, but this guy unnerved you.

 

Nonetheless, you followed through. You did not want to die yet, even if you did die you did not want it to be at the hands of angels. How oxymoronic, you would expect angels to be your saviors and stand for you, help you out, be by your side. Instead, they were after your life. When your crumbling apartment building was in view, Enzo parked the car carelessly right in front of the entrance and the both of you left it running as you rushed inside and climbed the deteriorating stairs up to the third floor with mild difficulty given the ever-present ache in your knees— it must have said a lot about your financial condition and living standards, but Enzo did not comment and instead, when you showed him your landline, went over to it to dial a number.

 

You did not want to leave him out of your sight but you also did not want him to know everything, so you  quietly slipped into your bedroom and fished out your savings from where you hid them and stuffed them into a backpack along with a few necessities; your ID, medical information, a pack of tissues laying on your bed and a few other things. Other than a couple of clothes and your Walkman, everything belonged to your landlord anyway, so you were not too worried about leaving it behind if it came to that— you had learned long ago not to invest in furniture with how often you seemed to jump from place to place. A bottle of water. Finally. You heard his voice, assuming that the person on the other side picked up the phone, you quickly shouldered your backpack and hurried to where Enzo was, a hand on his round waist and the other clutching the phone to his ear, lax, unhurried.

 

“Heyy, bud. Gotta talk to the boss man. Not to say that _you’re_ not the boss. He knows me.”

 

A long pause. Enzo did not seem worried and you, with every passing second, panicked even more.

 

“If it ain’t my old buddy. How’re things? Yeah? How’s work? Stale eh? I assumed as much, listen, I got somethin’ for ya. It’s an eight hour drive. I’ll see ya, pack somethin’ for me. Your debts getting’ pretty hefty.”

 

When he hung up, he turned to you. He did not offer an explanation as to where and to whom he was taking you, instead just told you to get your coat and to follow him. You did follow him to his car and this time, got into the passenger seat, shrugging your coat on and tossing your backpack to the backseat. He would be taking you to safety alright, but could he guarantee safety on the way over? You doubted he was capable of self-defense, what with the way he screeched at Bayonetta and Rodin, and neither were you. With the others, you felt safe. You felt safe— it was then you understood why you needed this.

 

You did not feel safe and after this, you most probably would not feel safe no matter where you went and what you did with whom or how. You would not feel secure, you would always look over your shoulder and wonder whether they were coming for you, whether you would find yourself feeling as helpless as you had earlier today trapped by an influx of monsters. Would you ever be able to sit back and relax? You hated depending on others, you made a living by yourself and you grinded and grinded and grinded. You had dreams once— maybe you could go to college, leave your past behind. Climb up the social ladder and live comfortably without having to worry about whether you had enough money to pay the rent or find some food. You wanted to settle, find something you liked, stop fleeing every time you made a human connection somewhere out of fear that you would lose them and get hurt again.

 

Hurt again. Yeah. The image of your parents bloodied, bodies on the floor painted it red. You had been happy once. You had been okay once, you had a happy family, a nice father and a loving mother who worked hard for you. You had a house, it was small but it was yours. You had a life, it was not always so easy but it was yours. You had smiles on your face, now you so rarely found yourself happy. You so very rarely found yourself willing to do anything and even then, it would be nowhere near as energetic as you used to be back when they were alive.

 

At night, in the dead of the darkness, you always wondered whether the image of skewered bodies and the warm pool of blood would greet you when you turned the lights on. You wondered whether you would get someone else killed; you wondered  lot of things. How would your life be if your parents were alive? How would you feel if you had a place to call home? Would you still be so empty? Lost? Sad?

 

You had not realized that you fell asleep after some time, Enzo must have taken a break some time along the way because you had heard the car’s rumble slow down and distant chatter. Maybe he got some food, the thought of that almost woke you up your slumber and your stomach grumbled in aid, but you fell back before you could fully wake. You were hungry, you were starving actually. But you were more tired than you were hungry, so fatigue lulled you easily. Your neck was stained and it would hurt when you woke up, and your back was resting at an awkward angle. You would scold yourself for taking the front seat, or at least curling in on yourself in the weirdest way possible once you woke up and felt the remnants of ache linger in your bones.

 

You did not know how long you went on— eight hour drive was what Enzo said. You did not know how long it had been though for you slept through most of the travel and were woken up by a hand on your shoulder jerking you awake, not so gently. It was as if he was not physically capable of being considerate. You huffed, albeit quietly and straightened your back, already feeling the knots forming and your heart beating oddly after being awoken so suddenly. You took in your surroundings and realized that the sun had begun to rise slowly. It was morning already.

 

“Where are we?”

 

You asked as you got out of the car and reached for your backpack in the back seat, shrugging it on and rolling your neck to relieve it of the pain. You heard a few cracks and cringed visibly at the feeling of muscles moving and the sound itself, eyes shut and still trying to shake the sleep out of your system. You were still so terribly tired, the cold morning breeze washed over your body and made you realize that your jeans were torn at the knees so you looked down at them, only to be surprised to see just how much you bled. Blood had run down and seeped into the denim and dried there, as well as on your skin and formed a thick crust— thicker than necessary because you did not clean your wound. It still hurt terribly and you were mildly concerned that you would be infected. Only mildly. It was the least of your problems now.

 

“Residential Area. Your employees are right up this street.”

 

So settled another heavy silence between the two of you as you walked— you could see that Enzo was just as tired as you if not more. After all, he was the one who had driven and stayed up all night, and you could see dark circles under his eyes where they were not concealed by a rip-off of designer shades. He brought you all the way here even though he had even said that it was his birthday and that he had wanted to spend the night eating cake with his wife and daughters. Suddenly you remembered the way he made you sick and guilt settled in your stomach. He would most likely as for money for this, he had no idea who you were and he seemed the pragmatist type. He would not do things out of the goodness of his heart, certainly not for someone he did not even know well.

 

Soon enough, you were standing in front of a battered looking shop and the sign flickered above in red cursive, ‘Devil May Cry’.

 

“This is the place?”

     

“Yeah. ‘tis the place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations to CAPCOM, Hideaki Itsuno, all the other the developers and to us! We have waited so long for this game, it has been far too long since 2008 and I have been dying for some new DMC content. In the honor of the new game, I have decided to put onto "paper" something new I had in mind, hopefully you will enjoy it.  
> Please feel free to share your thoughts and comments below!


	2. aapdoce;

It was not that hard, it could not possibly be as hard as you made it out to be in your mind; after all, all you really had to do was take a deep breath to calm your raging nerves, push the door open and walk into the rugged place and disclose the details of what happened to your ‘employees’, whoever those employees might be— angels, purgatory, dimension switching and oh, the part where you almost died and were made into human patty for angels. The usual. It was not that hard, neither was it the hardest thing you would have done, was it? All you had to do was creak the door open and walk in, worst case scenario the battered looking door would give out under your touch and end up collapsing right onto your exhausted and extremely stiff body, and if you were lucky its weight alone would crush you to your death. Maybe not, maybe you were just overreacting

 

Your eyes wandered up to gauge the complex; it seemed to be quite a large building, yet there were no conjoining apartments. Windows had dooms above and so did the door and the inside of the place seemed to be dark, as if no one was there. Whoever the owners were, they probably lived somewhere else other than this dump, for the building seemed battered, as if it had lived through quite the hell; built in the signature Gothic style that complimented and was in perfect harmony with the rest of the district.  You noted that the structure resembled every other in the Capulet City, there was not much that made Residential Area stand out from the rest. This shop on its own did, however, a sign written in cursive flickered red and stood out in the dead of the night.

 

“Devil May Cry.”

 

Words rolled off your tongue easily enough as you tried to familiarize yourself with the name of the company with which you would soon find yourself affiliated; your voice hushed and a puff of smoke leaving past your lips at the morning chill, eyes following the font in what appeared to be mild wonder. Was that even a _company_? You took a deep breath, oddly enough, this was not as easy as you initially though it was going to be. You did not know what kind of people would greet you on the other side of the door. More importantly, you were here with the intention of trusting your life in their hands and whether they were really capable of doing that had yet to be put to test. Admittedly, although it did not differ a lot, this place looked shady and more like the meeting place of satanic cults than anything else. What kind of a name was _‘Devil May Cry’_ anyway? Not exactly comforting and cozy was what.

 

Even if you could trust them, would _they_ trust you? What if they wanted to have nothing to do with you? There was still a chance of them turning down this job, after all, they did not know the details. You would need— hell, not even you yourself knew what you would need, how could they take on the responsibility of another human being? Was that even okay? What would you do if they turned you down and said that you were not qualified or that you could not possibly afford them? Anyone insane enough to be doing supernatural work had to charge extreme amounts of money, you realized. Then there was the matter of Enzo who was dragged into this mess with the promise of cash even though he had been mostly quiet, which was something you chalked up to his being way too tired after hours of driving with no sleep at all.

 

No one ever did anything out of the goodness of their heart, you would have expected compensation for your services and the trouble you went through, on your birthday nonetheless, too.

 

This whole ordeal suddenly felt too real and the bitterness of life hit you harder than you could cope with when you realized that you were in for it now, and that there was no way out. Truth of the matter was that you did _not_ want to die. Every now and then, the feelings of grief and sadness would bubble inside of you and triumph, leave you wounded, tired and suffering on the inside. Ever since the incident with your parents, the feelings made themselves well acquainted with you and suffocated you when alone and in the confines of your own, lonely company. Sometimes, you would find yourself wheezing, unable to breathe and other times, you would find yourself staring off into the distance and the feeling of salty tears rolling down the curve of your cheeks would snap you out of your trance.

 

It was not something one could walk away from so easily, it was something that burned just as bad even to this day when you let your mind wander to that fateful day when you lost virtually everything and everyone. Times like those, you would long for an escape that was not there, you would want to crawl up walls and get away from your own demons, find a way out of the hell life created for you and the prison you willingly hoarded yourself in. Times like those, when the lights were out and no escape was in sight, your mind would wander and contemplate the possibility of a future without you in it and your mind would conjure a reality; a place and a time where you ceased to exist any longer. The idea was entertained, not for long sometimes, for too long the others.

 

Today had changed that, you realized.

 

 After seeing otherworldly creatures hover in midair, their wings stretching so wide behind them that the sight alone bewildered you and rendered you speechless, their bodies sculpted of feathers and muscles that resembled armor in the way they gleamed in the light that shone upon their descending selves, their scepters and weapons and accessories nothing short of extravagant and blood-curdling at the same time; it had changed something within you. It was a sight to behold, it felt straight out of the pages of a children’s book on _God_ and _Bible_ , it felt straight out of the walls of the Sistine Chapel; a picture painted by Michelangelo himself— it was not hard to see that it was not meant for the eyes of mere mortals; ignorant, meek and useless constructed and held back by so many obstacles foreign to them, lost to so many dangers that lurked above and below their pointless selves and yet, humans, mortals so pretentious that they thought the world revolved around them and nothing had any value in the face of their existence.

 

Being saved by a just as mysterious and eerie group of people; mystical, potent and utterly dangerous with their experienced selves towering over your shivering frame so easily, bodies aged and toned, carrying themselves with such grace that even the angels themselves paled, _even_ with the rays of lights nothing short of holy shining upon them from heavens above and through the clouds. What were the chances of that? What were the chances of people like Bayonetta and Rodin conveniently being there just in time to save you? Not as high as one would presume.

 

You knew that today, _you were supposed to die._

 

Yet you had not. You lived. You lived and you wanted to live. As all of it occurred, as the events of the night unfolded before your widened and disbelieving eyes, you found yourself calling for help. You did not realize it at the time, the way worlds left your stunned lips and the way tears trailed down your cheeks in the face of inevitable fear. You cried for help, you called Bayonetta’s name, and you really, genuinely hoped that she could be your salvation at that very moment. That she could hold your hand, tug you back on your shaky feet and run with you out of and away from this situation. And when she masterfully did exactly that, you found yourself sighing in relief, more grateful to her than you had ever been for anything in your life.

 

You would make it through. You would live on, dream on and no matter what, you would find a way to make it out of whatever hell you had been tossed into alive. There were so many people to whom you owed more than your life already, and no matter what, you promised yourself, that you would pay them back. These people too, even though you had never met them, even though you did not know yet if you could trust your life in their care— protecting people and hunting monsters for a living did not have to be easy. So you would do everything within your power not to remain indebted to them, to Rodin, Bayonetta and Enzo, who took the time to go on an eight hour long drive just for your sake.

 

That was your conviction, no matter how shaky and unstable it was. You knew that it was fragile, you knew that you would still have days when it all became way too much for you to take in without losing a piece of yourself, without losing more of your mind and sanity. You knew you would still be haunted by the dark, still wounded by the image that had once been carved into your consciousness— but you would live. Soldier through it all, buckle up and _endure_. You would keep on living.

 

“Come on, just walk in! I’m gonna freeze my balls off at this point!”

 

Before you could have even squared up and walked into the weary-looking shop, Enzo shoved past you and pushed the door open, walking right into the lion’s den as if he owned the goddamn place and had known the owners for longer than he knew his own name. Your lips parted and you whipped your head to look at the man with wide eyes and furrowed brows. You did not know if you commanded or condemned his obnoxiousness. You knew that he had to be acquainted with the owners if he could call them effortlessly in the middle of the night like the way he did, but that was still a bit _too_ confident for your liking since it was borderline _rude_! Maybe you were biased because you were actually scared shitless of rejection and failure, but not even that completely excused his attitude! Maybe it did, you did not exactly know what kind of people they were, but _still_!

 

Okay, **seriously**. You had to stop it with the overreacting.

 

“Ah! There he is!”

 

You saw Enzo’s eyes widen behind his glasses as if he saw someone he recognized; a long lost friend, someone whom he had not seen in a long time, with a wide grin on his face, posture relaxing and guard lowering almost immediately— you wondered what kind of a relationship they had developed over the years. He looked way too relieved by the sight, so maybe it had something to do with you; the sooner he could get rid of you, the better. He likely wanted you to be someone _else’s_ problem, not his any longer. Your gaze, slightly curious and more nervous than anything else, followed the line of his to see at whom he was looking.

 

“Yo, Dante! Long time no see, my man!”

 

It was the second you had been rendered speechless in such a short period of time.

 

The bulk of a man you saw was standing in the darkness of the shop next to a desk was no one— no,  _nothing_  like you had ever seen before; his elegant fingers were delved in silver locks which were dripping down over his body and straight onto the cheap-looking and worn wooden paneling on the floor, rustling his hair to presumably shake the droplets of water out of it. Either he had been running a marathon and it rained all the while moments before he came here, or he was freshly out of shower.

 

Shadows caught on the contours of his body with only the slightest of light shyly reflecting on his body and defined the taut muscles he supported, milky skin wet and made ethereal by the way drops licked every inch of it, disappearing below the waistband of the sweatpants that hugged his waist. The only thing that came to your mind when your eyes caught the sight of him was ‘beautiful’— a beauty beyond your comprehension, only before your sight for your none the wiser self to admire, not understand.

 

He did not acknowledge either of you verbally, and you were too enraptured by him to demand anything more— his hands were large and arms veiny, yet he moved with delicacy and decadence as he let his silver hair fall over his face and arms rest by his either side, revealing a smoldering gaze that cut sharp through the darkness and caught the light in a way that made him appear dangerous, almost deadly. Blue. It was so _blue_ , not so light that it appeared gray, not so pigmented that it put the sky itself to shame; a perfect mix with yellow rimming the pupil, blending perfectly into the light blue. The features of his face was sharp and finely sculpted, long lashes fluttering over the curve of his cheekbones and lips, slightly sheen, drawn into a sharp line. He looked feral, this ‘Dante’. Violently beautiful.

 

It did not take a genius to figure out that he did not like either of you here, interrupting him and imposing yourselves into a private moment he was entitled to have by himself. What had you unable to move was how you could see him grind his teeth in the slightest by the way his jaw worked, icy blue orbs scrutinizing the two of you as if  _you_  were the enemy, the threat, the unwanted, unannounced. It unnerved you and made you itch to take a step back and out of this place yet you stood your ground for your legs were not of much use.

 

You wanted to see if you were alone in your misery, look over at your companion for comfort but you could not look away from that man nor could you find comfort and solace in a momentary blink; all blue heat and steam and the fact that Enzo seemed to have simmered down did not help in the slightest, it felt as if even that obnoxious man was aware of the tension that hung heavily in the air, sharp enough to slice open with a knife. Perhaps they were not the best of friends, after all, Enzo and this Dante person, given the way the latter’s lips curled almost in distaste and disdain at the sight of you. Perhaps you should have been offended, all you were however, was astonished and bedazzled.

 

Before your brain had enough time to process the quick movements of the other, the white haired man called Dante reached for a sword that was balanced next to the desk he was standing by with grace that would easily rival and even triumph those of the angels to which you had been exposed. The sword was almost as tall as you, if not actually _taller_ than you; the large hilt on the sword right above what appeared to be an intricately molded ribcage catching your eye appeared to reflect light unnaturally. The cross-guard was extended on either side and the skull seemed to support an open mouth, almost as if it were screaming, and you took note of the small horns it had.

 

Dante was fast, everything blurred when he moved; those fingers of his that you thought to be _so_ delicate had a firm grasp around the handle of that gigantic sword in a matter of seconds and he was able to lift the bulk of metal so _effortlessly_ that you could only look at him with wide eyes and lips parted in wonder. It was as if he were twirling a mere pen in his hold and when he lifted it over his shoulder, you found yourself flinching back and moving away from the door; you had not genuinely anticipated that his anger would stretch so far that he would end up slicing and dicing you! You were not fast enough to move out of the way, however, for the man literally _threw_ the sword as if he were throwing knifes and you could only watch. You forgot about why you came here, what you wanted from him, whom you were with as the metal cut through the air with a swoosh, quite literally at that too, and sliced right past the space between you and Enzo.

 

You heard the shriek after that, it sounded as if a woman was being slaughtered and it was a sound so deep, deranged and pained that you thought one had to have a monster gnaw at their insides to produce anything of the sort; the horror that sparked within you growing by the second with the gushing and the swooshing sounds. Your head whipped back to see a big creature, hunched over with three wide bone-like structures stemming from his back, bleeding profusely only two meters behind your back. It had wide horns that stretched on either side of its head and its whole body was glowing red with lines that resembled veins curling all over its body— now rendered unable to move due to the large sword that went straight through it, killing it in the process.

 

“What the… Holy mother of Mary! Not this shit again! Oh, lord! _Not this shit again!_ ”

 

Enzo was just as shocked as you were for he fell down on his ass not-so-gracefully, hands trying to support his shaky weight. When the creature’s body split in two and disappeared into thin air in white ash, you saw where he large sword went; straight through the monster and into the chest of a sturdy man.

 

“Oh my God!”

 

You screeched, unable to help yourself, and slapped both palms over your mouth, eyes wide at the sight before you. Whoever it was had the same face as the man you had seen in the shop, except his icy blue orbs were not as cold and lips tugging at the corners in a smug, almost condescending grin instead of being drawn together in a tight line. Locks just as white cascaded down his forehead and framed his face perfectly, his chest bared; you could see that even the dips and contours of their body was exactly the same as one another and if you had not known better, you would have definitely mistaken one for the other. So far, the only thing that would be of any help when distinguishing one from the other was the fact that this one, standing before you, was stabbed through the chest with a large sword and was wearing a long, red leather coat that stretched down to the backs of his knees.

 

“Goddammit—”

 

The man sighed despite the bulk of metal that went through his flesh and bones and was literally resting there, exasperated. You did not know what had you shaking in your boots; was it the fact that he was impaled on a sword and still standing on two feet as if nothing significant had occurred that required his immediate attention, or the fact that he seemed to be almost  _bored_ , aggravated, quite inconvenienced but not in a life-threatening way unlike the way it should have been. He was a man simply fed up with this happening over and over and over again, as if deliberately done to get on his nerves.

 

“You havin’ fun over there, Vergil?”

 

He sighed, voice low and almost a hiss as a single hand, just as delicate as those of the other’s but clad in fingerless leather gloves, wrapped around the hilt of the sword and tugged it away from his chest, turning it and slashing clean through his side to get it out of his body due to how large it was. You could not help another shriek at the way blood gushed from the open wound, eyes wide and mouth drier than a desert, tongue little more than a sandpaper in your mouth. Tissue and blood came together in a matter of seconds and through the thick layer of blood, you could see the way the flesh repaired itself almost instantaneously, cells binding with one another and his body immediately creating new tissue to make up for the loss of the old ones.

 

“Always playin’ the same goddamn game, huh?”

 

You felt like crying.

 

Witnessing this was, for some reason, way more scarier than falling on your knees helplessly at the sight of thousands of angels descending down the sky for you. You could feel it in the way Bayonetta and Rodin moved that they were not _quite_ human, but something **more** ; yet never was it explicit enough for your mortal eyes to see in such a way that would have you shivering to the very core of your being— this, however, was the exact opposite of that. Never had you seen someone react so nonchalantly to being impaled in the chest by a sword of that size and volume, never had you seen someone literally slash through his own flesh to get it out, never had you seen someone heal in a matter of seconds as he had…

 

“How generous of _your_ guests not to come emptyhanded.”

 

A cold voice answered behind you, taps of boots audible on the wooden floor even through the ringing in your ears and you took note of the way their voices differed even though nothing else in their appearances did. You wanted to look back at him due to how accusing and almost mocking he sounded just so he would feel at least a sliver of guilt at the way he welcomed his _guests_ after the **hell** those particular guests had been through, you genuinely did, but you could not take your eyes off of the man in red leaning against the very gigantic sword that failed to kill him; a hand still wrapped around the hilt as he slammed the tip of it into the ground, leaning the bulk of his weight into his while a hand came to rest on his bare waist, feet crossed and the tip of a boot tapping the ground.

 

You did not have to turn back at the other male, who was apparently called Vergil and not Dante, for he shouldered past you and stepped over Enzo’s trembling body effortlessly.  _Shouldered_  past you and what seemed to be a mere brush of your body to the side to make way for his frame almost had you tripping over shaky feet and that was enough to shake you out of your shock— was he not aware of how much strength that body of his possessed?! Why was  _he_  being so hostile when  _you_  were the one who was going to hire them?! It was not like you almost killed him by throwing a sword at him! You whipped your head to catch his gaze just in time, except he was not even looking at you; icy blue eyes were dead set on those of the other’s, identical to his in every single way imaginable.

 

_‘…didn’t come emptyhanded?’_

 

What did that even mean? So this was your doing yet again— the inevitable influx of… whatever those things were?! How could that even be when you spent over eight hours on the road with Enzo to drive over here? You had heard the clap of wings, the sharp clash of the metal against diamond and accessory against scepters when they moved; you heard their wails, an ancient tongue but now, you were totally oblivious even as Vergil hauled that large sword and had it cutting through the thin air right between you and Enzo. Now that you had a second to think it over, you realized that the creeping creature must have been right behind you all along and that you were only alive thanks to his razor sharp instincts. You were only breathing now because Vergil moved and eliminated a threat long before you could even process its emergence; it only took him a brief moment, mere milliseconds it took for you to blink.

 

You were baffled yet again. The encounter with the man in red did not even take so much as seconds, but Vergil was dressed properly now; a blue coat just as long as that of the other shrugged onto his agile body and you could see the difference between the two and how the blue was in much better condition than the red. The contrast made itself even more apparent between the worn out cargo pants and unlaced boots the unnamed one supported and the dark leather in pristine condition that hugged the long legs of Vergil. Similarly, he was wearing gloves on those deceivingly gentle hands, and in his right hand was a long, sturdy sword; just as intricately designed yet much more elegant than the other, two blue ribbons following the trail of its owner— a katana.

 

“Don’t slack off, Dante.”

 

Vergil quipped and you finally put the pieces together as Enzo next to you scrambled up to his feet, rushing into the shop with a wail; the red-wearing was the one called Dante and due to their uncanny similarity, Enzo had mistaken the asshole for him. His back was to you, but you did not miss the way Vergil’s left hand rose to comb through his white locks, brushing them over his forehead and slicking them back, thus revealing another difference; unkempt and messy contrasted perfectly with the neatly tamed and maintained. Unruly in the face of order.

 

Instead of falling back to his side, though, Vergil’s left hand wrapped around the hilt of his katana and he altered his posture in the slightest; leaning forward and dragging a foot further back to widen his stance and for a brief moment, you wondered whether he would purposely attack the man in front of you. Dante, on the other hand, seemed unbothered and huffed as if this was a chore, hauling the large sword in his grasp over his shoulder and tapping it into the meat of the muscle lightly. A light smirk stretched over his lips knowingly and for the briefest of moments his playful gaze met yours and he winked at you.  _Winked_.

 

“Mind your own business, big bro.”

 

They had to be identical twins to look the exact same way, to have the exact same body, hair, eyes, to be the exact height and presumably, weight. The jab, along with the rivalry between the two, was either playful or bitter.

 

With that, Dante leapt off his feet, revealing more of those creatures crawling and hissing right behind him. Your eyes followed the graceful movement as you instinctively moved further back into the shop and away from the danger just as Dante swung his sword to successfully greet red, large bats with horns and sharp canines midair with the sharp steel. It was more of a dance for the man just as it had been for Bayonetta, you realized when he _chuckled_ , let his pearly white teeth shine in a big grin and grabbed a hold of one of the bats to remain airborne, riding the goddamned thing as if it was made to serve him and his demands.

 

A sharp screech had you looking back at the man still on the ground. It seemed as if those monsters moved in a harmony you could not quite understand, one positioned itself in a way that would cover the other, so on and forth. They were in perfect synchronization when they leaped off and lunged at Vergil and your breath caught in your throat at the idea of him being overwhelmed and hurt _because_ of you, you yet _again_ and you did not even _know_ what you had done! It was the same as it was with the white creatures with beige wings stretching wide behind them; monsters of all kinds, shapes, colors with red on their skin and blue accenting the corners of their eyes and sizes spawning all around you for reasons that were unknown to you and putting not only you but those around you in danger as well.

 

You heard a soft clank when the guard of Vergil’s katana met the sheath of his sword but you did not see anything.

 

White ash kept on raining over your head and Dante’s cries and taunts rang in the cold morning air. All the clawed creatures glowing red were suspended once they leapt off their clawed feet, and you heard the sharp way the guard met the scabbard, giving off a faint light. You did not know if it was because your hazy mind was way too preoccupied being amazed by all that was around you to comprehend the reality of the situation or if it was because Vergil had moved way too fast for your mortal eyes to follow unlike Dante, who took his time and played around and danced to a music that was lost on your ears. Either way, through the thick blue fog, slashes made themselves apparent all over deformed bodies and the white ash was swept by the wind.

 

The second he was done, Vergil corrected his posture and stood proud, turning his back to where his enemy once was. With the sun rising behind him and its rays more than forgiving on his skin, he looked ethereal and you were reminded of why you were rendered speechless after one glance in his way; it was the way snowy brows furrowed and sculpted the expression of mild distaste on his perfect features, the way his full lips were glazed over and drawn into a tight line, the way long lashes fluttered over pale blue; determined, single-minded to the point it was impossible to miss the absolute resolution that glistened over the pigment. It lacked the joyous playfulness Dante’s same colored irises held and although the same in every single way imaginable, the corners of his eyes were void of any laughter lines.

 

“Vergil—”

 

Before you could stop yourself, your lips wrapped around the name and it slipped off your tongue, barely louder than a whisper, though he must have heard you nonetheless because his unfocused eyes met yours, razor sharp, and your breath caught in your throat. Lips pressed into a tight line as you watched him stand victorious, not a single strand of hair of his out of place, not a single piece of clothing disheveled. This was child’s play to him, you noted dully, that was the reason why he found it to be more of a chore than anything else— your sudden unannounced and unwelcome appearance. That was the reason why he brushed past you coldly, that was the reason why he said what he had about you not coming emptyhanded, was it not?

 

You gulped again when you felt your throat clog up, dryness in your mouth not so easily washed away. He looked at you as if you were beneath him, as if you held little value and as if your life had long been granted to you to serve a greater purpose, the likes that were grander than you and holier than thou, the likes of  **him**. Elegant, prideful and capable in so many ways that you could only dream of being one day. If he were a king, you were the carpet in the pathway on which he would not even step; if he were a conqueror, you were simply the pebble on which he walked. So little value your life and soul and sorry self held that you wondered whether he would even be willing to protect it and serve your purpose.

 

“C’mon, Feather Flocklear! Time to flock off!”

 

It was the mere confusion that made you whip your head up to see Dante riding a huge creature with claws and large wings that oddly resembled a deformed bird and amidst your shock, fear and existential crisis you almost _laughed_ at the sheer absurdity of his taunts. He looked absolutely ridiculous; pearly white teeth in a large smile and either hand on the feathers sticking up on the either side of the bird as if he were riding a motorcycle, sides of his boots tapping its bulky body to keep airborne while screeches filled the air, accompanied by wooing and excited exclamations of ‘yeah’s and ‘let’s go, baby’s. In that moment, you doubted anyone was freer than him, anyone was more joyous than him.

 

“Wo—ah! _Hey_!”

 

Dante’s ride and the sole source of your brief and fleeting entertainment did not last long, for the creature was soon enveloped by a dark midnight blue and a long and glowing white slit appeared in the middle of it which seemed to shine in contrast to the dark and ominous background. It did not take the man on top of it by surprise, however; for he was quick to leap up and off the decaying bird moments before the cut could get to him and sever him right in the middle, landing right in front of you elegantly as if he were just asked to move to the side and did not do at least five somersaults midair during his graceful descent onto his feet.

 

“Buzzkiller. I was gettin’ in my mornin’ exercise.”

 

Dante exclaimed, exasperated, shaking his head and placing both of his hands on either side of his waist as if he was talking to a child whom he could not reason with. His eyes looked past you and into the shop and you took the time to note the youthful looks he supported, white lashes and soft locks framing his face, lips chapped and eyes only slightly older than those of his brother— ‘big’ brother apparently, despite the uncanny resemblance.

 

“Stop playing around.”

 

It was when the other’s voice rang behind you that you finally took note of the way Vergil slipped past you and into the shop like a ghost once again, resulting in you stomach dropping down to your feet as the realization of what those two were truly capable of hit: it was not because you were distracted, nor were you an airhead, it was the unadulterated talent and skill it took for one to almost literally **teleport** behind you and disappear from within your peripheral in the mere milliseconds it took one to blink.

 

“Aw, hell no! I ain’t puttin’ up with this any longer than I have ta!”

 

You turned your back to Dante when the familiar voice of Enzo rang from within the shop and the man soon scrambled out of it and into the street, hurriedly, with wild eyes and furrowed brows. You did not blame the poor guy at this point, really, that was only the second time he got caught in crossfire and almost died today and it was his birthday just yesterday, which he wanted and planned to spend with family only to end up having to take care of your sorry ass. Between the lack of celebrations and the excessive exposure to violence,  rather high possibility of death and imminent blood and gore, it was understandable for him to be as done with everything as he was.

 

“You! Fuckin’ pay off debt to me, Dante! I don’t have time to deal with this shit! I’m gonna fucking retire, hear me? I’m retiring! Fuck this, I’m leavin’! Take care of the girl or they’ll have me on a stick, ya hear me? Do ya?!”

 

Enzo did not even look at you when he rambled, his eyes shining with a fire in them that you had not seen before and his index finger pointing at Dante accusingly— so Enzo was indebted to Rodin and Dante was indebted to Enzo? No matter how you looked at it, with zero self-defense in the face of supernatural danger and no money to get by, Enzo was the victim of unfathomable fate and nonexistent luck here, even if you did not necessarily like how he talked and treated you at first, or at all. Still, it was back in motion: the whole ‘treating you as if you did not exist in the present moment with everybody else thing’, so you placed a hand over your bicep to ground yourself in the moment as Enzo angrily stalked towards where he parked the car earlier, blunt nails digging into the material of your coat as the only man you somehow grew accustomed to left you all by yourself and in the care of two men, two very, very dangerous man.

 

“Consider it paid off, I just saved your sorry ass.”

 

Dante hollered in return, not even bothering to look back at Enzo as he waved him off, throwing an arm over your shoulder when he was close enough to do so. The scent of gunpowder, leather and cheap bodywash invaded your senses, all accompanied by the faint musk of sweat as Dante, so effortlessly, made himself comfortable in your presence and dragged you into the shop. Oddly enough, despite his suspiciously intimate gesture, he kept a courteous distance between the two of you; even his hand on your shoulder was barely there, a hold out of which you could slip with no difficulty if you so wanted to.

 

Whether he wanted to comfort you or show you that he did not mean any harm and that he could be trusted by holding you the way he did, you were not sure, but as you walked in and traced his steps, you did not walk away from his hold. Enzo hollered from behind you, angrily, way too lıudly and just as accusingly; fed up.

 

“Not even the interest, asshole! Not even the interest!”

 

Dante’s hold did not last long anyway, as soon as you walked into the shop, his hand slipped down to your back and gently patted it to usher you inside, closing the door behind him. First thing you did was look for Vergil and you saw him seated comfortably on a leather couch placed to the far right of the room, his legs wide open and his elbows resting on his knees, both hands wrapped around the hilt of his sword which he had placed right in the middle of his feet. He did not seem to be interested in your company, neither was he in Dante’s, and you had more pressing matters to attend to than invest in small talk with him, anyway.

 

“Can I… use your bathroom?”

 

Your voice came out small and husky and only then you realized how thirsty you were and how little you actually spoke since last night; your throat was scratchy, you were hungry and you desperately needed a change of clothes and a long, long nap. One that would preferably take _forever_ , you scoffed openly at your thoughts taking a different turn at once, eyes cast downward to avoid any direct physical confrontation with either of the brothers which resulted in you missing Dante’s pointing thumb in the direction of the bathroom. Despite your seemingly unwavering conviction from earlier, you knew you would suffer from thoughts like this for a long time.

 

“Well, help yourself. The toilet’s in the back.”

 

You made your way into the bathroom almost robotically, letting your tired feet carry the bulk of your body to the cramped door right behind Dante’s desk. It was hard to comprehend all that had occurred in the span of only a few hours and your body and the way you moved mirrored the way you felt; sluggish, weary, _lifeless_. It was as if all that you had been through finally caught up to you. You felt like an outsider in your own life; as if you watched in third person point of view as ginormous wings spread midair, attached to armored creatures donned in gold and diamond, as if words that Vergil’s elegant lips formed so effortlessly earlier on had nothing at all to do with you.

 

_‘…didn’t come emptyhanded.’_

 

How could it possibly be your fault when you had never experienced anything of the sort before? How could you have possibly, deliberately brought destruction and catastrophe to the doorstep of the people whose  _help_  you  _needed_  when you were the one trying so vehemently and failing to avoid it with all that composed your very being? You could not help whatever it was that kept on happening, in fact, you would have perished not long ago had it not been for your luck and the people who had so graciously helped you out of the predicament you found yourself placed in. It was thanks to Bayonetta that you made it to this shop and it was thanks to Vergil’s swift reaction in the face of danger that you survived, it was thanks to Enzo that you met them.

 

Enzo… the thought of him made you sick in the stomach and you had to stop yourself from visibly cringing at the thought as you wrapped your shaking fingers around the handle and opened the door, slipping into the small but relatively clean bathroom through the crack quietly. You knew you were being no more than selfish, you knew how much you were asking of everyone by being a burden on them but Enzo had  _left_  you here, in the care of two strangers you had never met before and had no idea whether you could trust, two strangers who were definitely more than human and two strangers who could slice and dice you in a matter of milliseconds long before your mortal brain could even catch up and comprehend the reality of the situation.

 

You knew you could not have asked more of him, you knew he wanted to go back to his family and children but what were you supposed to do if those two very strangers decided that they could not help you after all and that it was best if you left? What would you do if they deemed you unworthy of their time, what would you do if they demanded more than you could pay? No, money was something you could handle one way or another, _what_ would you do if they kicked you out and left you to become ‘otherworldly creature food’ was the actual question that needed to be raised.

 

You took a deep breath and leaned your weight on the sink, hands on the edge, head down and hair curtaining your face. You did not think that they would, otherwise why would they take the time to save you? Because they were good people whose conscience would not have left them alone? Or because they were good entrepreneurs? Or because it would have been too much of a hassle to sweep your corpse from their doorstep— bad for business, per se? You did not _know_ them, how could you come up with a plausible answer to that question?

 

You also could not forget the way Dante stood proud on his feet with a sword through his chest— that was **not** human. That was not something that a mere human could survive no matter how you looked at it, there was no way he was the same creature as you, a useless mortal. And his brother, Vergil, by blood and common sense was no different, no better. It would explain their superhuman strength and the range of their movements, but it did not mean that an explanation made you feel any better about the thought of being protected from supernatural creatures by two brothers who were quite supernatural themselves.

 

You took a deep breath and slouched your shoulders, hair brushing your forehead. How _ridiculous_ , you did not even have a hair tie with you. Normally something so trivial, so mundane and immaterial would have made you laugh but in your predicament, it was enough for your pent up anxiety to boil over and wash over your very being, taking over you and drowning you. Tears rolled down your face and when you realized that you were wheezing, you slapped both palms over your mouth in a desperate attempt to keep silent for fear that they would hear you and come looking for you, see you down on your knees once again, helpless and useless.

 

You hated it. you hated being useless, you hated asking for help, you hated not being able to do things yourself; relying on people often meant that you were inconveniencing them but this time, in your case, it meant that you were technically asking them to die for you— _human or not,_ whatever it was that kept coming after you only could only bring with it destruction and imminent danger. Your breaths quickened and you huffed over your trembling and tear-soaked fingers, trying to breathe properly, low whines and whimpers dying in your throat before they could get out. You hated asking for help, but you feared loneliness even more so. It reminded you of old things, salted wounds that had yet to heal.

 

The soft strings of an electric guitar playing in the background snapped you out of your anxiety fueled crisis.

 

You did not know for how long you remained on your knees on the bathroom floor, but when you could finally breathe, it was still not enough to fill your head and lungs with adequate oxygen and the tiles were wet with your tears, palms on the cold surface. You would have plenty of time to break down _again and again_ later, you doubted this was the end of it given the amount of shit you ate in just one day. You doubted that just because these two strangers decided to help you that everything would be resolved, that just because you were in their presence that you would be left alone— that would have been the case earlier, if it were so. Not even their inhumanity had been able to scare the danger away.

 

You closed your eyes and focused on the soft music.

 

It took you a while to stand back up with your arms too weak to carry your weight and your legs were trembling. You must have slid down onto your knees harder than you thought, because you could see dark bruises forming and the scabs that had formed earlier cracked, bleeding profusely and stinging as you moved to stand. You could not help your sharp hiss at that, limping onto the sink once again to wash your face and freshen up the best you could since the last thing you wanted to do was break down in front of the brothers and have them decide that you were too much of a nutcase to be dealt with after all.

 

Cold water felt biting on your heated skin and you washed your hands, bit your lip when you washed your face and brushed your damp locks back and away from your face. It helped cool your cheeks even though they had reddened, it helped soothe your imminently creeping headache, it helped you wake. You placed a cold hand on your nape and a few drops of water trickled down your spine as you did so, arching away from the cold. Your eyes were still red, lashes clumped together; the water did little to conceal your tears. Even if it did, the circles under your eyes were prominent, swollen. Your body was begging you for the rest you needed, a glimpse of which you could only get in Enzo’s car.

 

You took a deep breath to the rhythm of the strumming.

 

You washed your hands again, let the cold water run through your digits so you could lean down and at least try to clean off the blood from your knees and the ice cold sensation was oddly relieving even though it did little to stop your thighs from shaking and legs twitching uncomfortably. You fixed your disheveled clothes, took off your coat, combed your hair in place and swallowed the bitter taste in your mouth. You would have emptied your stomach into the toilet right there in there had you had anything in it to begin with, but you had not even eaten anything. At this rate, starvation and dehydration would get you long before any monsters could.

 

When you thought you were presentable enough, you softly creaked the door open and walked out, wiping your wet hands on the back of your jeans, coat forgotten in the bathroom. Right in front of you, Dante was seated in a chair behind his desk, on which he had two dirty booted feet crossed, plopped right next to an ancient telephone and a worn frame. He was slouched back into his chair, which tipped back and looked way too close to falling over, an electric guitar perched on his lap. It was purple and way too spiky and  _sharp_  not to be dangerous, shaped in an odd way with skeletal carvings donning the instrument and it was Dante’s blunt nails that made it come to life, filling the otherwise empty shop with a pleasant tune.

 

Vergil was sitting in the same manner, not having moved an inch and seemingly undisturbed by Dante’s music. Each scrape of blunt nails on the strings had black, tiny _bats_ flapping around the instrument and its player for a few brief seconds before disappearing with small sparks of electricity. You would have called yourself delusional, but after everything you had seen since yesterday evening, you did not find that to be merely a mirage created by your delusional self. Something about the brothers, donned in red and blue, made your breath quicken again, eyes glistening over.

 

“There you are. Thought you flushed yourself or somethin’.”

 

Dante hummed and planted his feet back on the floor just as he tossed the purple electric guitar to his back where it caught onto a hook attached to the wall and remained in place, perfectly intact despite the loud clang. His chair screeched as he pushed it back to sit properly, looking over his shoulder to meet your eyes. His gaze was not as scrutinizing as that of his companion, instead, he seemed to be calculating. Cautious in a discreet way; as if he wanted you to take him lightly so he could strike when you lowered your guard. It was the way his lips were curled up in a cunning smirk that had you attentive. In a way, it was way more terrifying than the ice gold glare from before that had you shivering in your shoes.

 

“Please—”

 

Teeth dug into your lower lip as you tried your hardest to hold back and bite it down, but a sob wrenched itself free from your throat despite your best efforts. Dante seemed to be taken aback, it was apparent that he did not have much experience with crying girls in his shop since he did not quite know what to do when he sprung onto his feet and hurried next to you, placing a hand on your back. What was supposed to be a comforting action only spurred you on and had you choking on your words before your lips could form them properly.

 

“Hey, hey! It’s okay, w—”

 

“For the love of god, _please_! **Please** help me, I don’t know what’s wrong or what’s happening but it keeps happening and I don’t know how to stop it or if I can even stop it at all and I—”

 

You did not give him time to comfort you, you did not give him time to evaluate the situation or ask you questions that you would eventually answer. The past was something you could not run away from and they would need to know all that you could give them in order to be able to make an executive decision. Through your tears, you could see that you had gained Vergil’s attention enough for him to stand up and approach Dante’s desk on which he leaned, arms crossed over his chest. Your hands covered your face as if you could physically shield yourself from the two identical gazes, one mildly lost and the other almost condescending.

 

“Hey, it’s okay sweetheart. Why don’tcha sit down, huh?”

 

Even though your hands did not quite leave your face and your tears did not dry, Dante urged you towards the leather couch in the shop but halfway through the hand on your back disappeared along with the scent of leather and gunpowder. Instead, sumptuous cologne and aftershave invaded your senses and a hand came to rest on the small of your back; more insistent, more determined and almost resolute when compared to that of Dante’s hold. You would have looked to see where he went for Vergil to hold you like this, but your nose was running and you did not want to make more of a fool of yourself. So instead you let yourself sink into the leather couch that cried loudly under your weight, a little too abused in this household.

 

“Stop crying. It is of no use.”

 

That was definitely Vergil. You would have thanked him for his input and redundant comment had he not actually brushed over your shoulder with his fingertips in a featherlight touch to get your attention and dropped a handkerchief onto your lap, letting you see the light purple through your fingers. Those smallest acts of kindness came to them so… Effortlessly. Simply.

 

Letting your head hang between your shoulders so your hair could curtain your face and somehow shield all the ugly and the snot from him, a man who could put Michelangelo’s finest sculptures to shame, you wrapped your fingers around the soft material and wiped your face and hands clean, blowing your nose the best you could without making it too awkward or disgusting. God, it was such a high quality material that was now stained forever with your slime. How mundane you felt compared to everything and everyone else in this new world you were forced into was surreal.

 

“Wanna tell us what happened?”

 

You heard the raps of his boots before his voice reached your ears. Unlike Vergil who moved like a serpent and executed his will when you were none the wiser, Dante was obnoxious; a showman, an actor. Their confidence manifested itself in different wills; pride and greed. A plastic bottle of water was placed in your lap gently and you hurried to gulp down half of it even though your stomach growled in protest.

 

“Sorry. We don’t really do medical attention here. No antiseptics.”

 

When he kneeled in front of you and dabbed a warm towel to your left knee, you almost felt bad for doubting them as you had in the bathroom and even before you were brought here by Enzo. They were experienced, they were veterans of what it was that they were doing. No antiseptics, yet they were professionals. What use would they have for antiseptics, anyway? You saw the way it happened; the way it took Dante mere seconds to heal after _slicing through his side_. They were used to this, and when the realization sunk in you almost wondered what kind of hell one had to be through to embrace this kind of life and acknowledge it as one’s own, but before the thought could take root in deep your mind, you chased it as far away as you possibly could. You could not allow yourself to open doors that were meant to stay closed, not now.

 

Instead you allowed yourself to appreciate the sight before you, silver tuft of hair framing a face so finely sculpted that no mortal or immortal would be able to resist another glance in its way; attentive, almost nurturing. You wondered whether you deserved this tenderness, the way calloused fingers that so dexterously slayed demonic creatures before maneuvered around your broken skin and dabbed away the accumulated dirt and scabs was not what you expected. Yet he was gentle in the way he did not touch you more than where he needed to, thoughtful in the way he wet the towel with warm water. It made you falter for a moment, thoughts scattered.

 

“I…”

 

The real question was whether you wanted to give them your whole life story. You thought it was redundant, nobody needed to know a sob story they did not ask for— and you were not in the right mindset to talk about how you came home to see everyone you loved, your whole family murdered, anyway. You did not need to tell them why you were at where you were yesterday night and they did not need to know that you were trying to run away from yourself when you got caught up in something way beyond your comprehension. They did not need to know you were barely holding on, they did not need to know that you had been ready to give up on everything that had been left behind until you almost lost it all.

 

“I was… out… at night yesterday. Wanted to take a walk. And I wandered around, ended up losing my way cause I… didn’t know the area that well.”

 

You closed your eyes and let the brothers fade from your perception; both the one on one of his knees in front of you and the one standing next to him, looking down at you. You could not help it, being left behind had done something to you. Being the only survivor of such a tragedy encouraged you to question it all: _why did_ **you** _survive?_ Why were you out that night? Why were they unlucky enough to have their guts painting the floor and you, out there, unaware and joyful with people who were once your friends? _If only you had been there_ — what could you have even done? You were useless, you would have been rendered speechless in the face of such relentless gore and torture.

 

You knew that rationally, you were feeling guilty about something over which you had no control. Even if you had been present, you could not have done anything to stop it from happening. Even if you had made it there earlier, you could not have saved them. The best and the only thing you could have done was to die with them, and you had failed even at that. So your burden was to live knowing that you could not have done anything without being able to accept it. the guilt would weigh heavily on your chest and have you short of breath at times when you were always least expecting it, at times when you thought you were okay.

 

**It would never set you free.**

 

“I ended up in a graveyard and there were— things. Like the ones from earlier, but not really… I don’t know, they were white in color? Wings, they had… gold halos and… and they had armors, weapons… They could fly and sing… and fight. And then— a woman came and saved me. Said that I was…”

 

You gulped the lump in your throat, eyes opening and gaze focusing on the handkerchief in your hands as you remembered Bayonetta’s words from earlier. Things you had not been able to make sense of could assist the brothers, yet the idea of formulating a sentence and saying it out loud made you pause long enough to draw an encouraging hum from Dante. Saying it out loud would make it real, no longer an opium induced dream or a wicked hallucination. This was real. This was real talk, and your breathing quickened as panic slowly crept in.

 

“…said that I was in Purgatory— I mean, _purgatory_? Something about portals, time an— and space rips and I don’t know how I ended up there and she said that either _I_ had done that or _something_ dragged me in and I don’t know why or how or—”

 

“A’ight, a’ight! Slow down. Who was this woman you talkin’ about?”

 

Although Dante’s inquiry was for you; partly because it was vital information and partly because he must have seen from the look on your face that you would spiral down into panic again, but he averted his gaze up to meet the calculating gaze of his brother’s and Vergil, as if he knew Dante would do just that or as if he had been thinking of the same thing, met his eyes with the same look. It was a conversation, a silent one, between two people who were more than just acquaintances, friends or even family. You could not read them, you could not decipher what they were thinking about. Were they doubting your words? Maybe your memory was foggy, maybe you w—

 

“Are you certain that they had…  _halos_?”

 

You looked up at Vergil, thinking back to his question before you acknowledged to Dante since you knew the answer to the former but the latter, you had to think back and really remember it. It was not like you would ever… it was not like you  _could_  ever forget; wings that spread meters behind them, armors and diamonds on their agile, feathered and blue accented bodies. They were donned in gold and jewelry and in many ways, they looked ethereal and otherworldly in a fascinatingly horrifying way, not gruesome and necessarily catastrophic like the ones from earlier, ones that the brothers so graciously fended off.

 

“Yeah… Gold bands, floating above their heads. For sure, all of them just… rained down when that woman killed them all. Bayonetta— she killed them all and she called it _dance_. And then… And then she did something, kissed the air, held me and there was a circle— and I don’t know _how_ she did it. There was another man, Rodin, and then they told Enzo to take care of me and he brought me here.”

 

“This is… curious.”

 

It seemed your answer raised more questions than it offered answers for Dante raised up on his feet and shared a look with Vergil’s profile, whose eyes were on your meek self, before looking down at you in with the identical look his brother supported. Both seemed puzzled and Vergil’s remark had you growing nervous. _So they did not know?_ What if they did not know and they would, in the end, end up calling someone else to come and deal with this? Dante was the only one who spoke; his hands were on his waist, towel stained with your blood clenched in a fist, as he leaned the weight of his body on one leg, head tilted slightly.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

Right, they did not even know that. Now that you thought back to it, no one knew that— not Bayonetta, not Rodin, not even Enzo cared for long enough to concern themselves with something so vitally trivial.  You did not know whether to be concerned or relieved that they were asking your name; _concerned_ because it meant that you would be staying with them, or at least working together with them to unravel this mystery for long enough for them to call you by your name and **relieved** because it meant that at least they would not necessarily be hauling your ass for some other person to deal with your shit like the three had done earlier. Or maybe they simply had better manners. So you cleared your throat and offered your name.

 

“Well, I’m Dante. This is Vergil, and we’re both at a loss, sweetheart. See, we’re more educated in the underworld studies, not the uh, God’s work.”

 

He pointed at himself, Vergil and threw his hands up almost dramatically as he said, shaking his head, though you could see the gears in his head was turning as he thought. Vergil, on the other hand, still seemed visibly bothered in the face of a phenomenon was a mystery to him, his arms crossed over his chest and eyes still on you, as if you were the source of all his problems, as if you were the puzzle he needed to solve in order to obtain what he sought, as if you were the Sphinx who stopped him amidst his journey to ask him a riddle that would inevitably end up with either one of you dead.

 

“God’s work, huh? You, discard your shirt.”

 

Okay, you thought you could have handled pretty much everything thrown your way by the quieter, more unpredictable one but you were wrong— instead of doing as he asked, your arms wrapped around your body and you instinctively turned your body away from him with an incredulous frown, clutching your hands to your chest. 

 

“What?! What for?!”

 

Those eyes had never left you, had never doubted themselves. Against your better judgment, blood rushed to your face and dusted the curve of your cheeks with a dark shade of red. Though Dante chuckled next to him, louder and more obnoxiously than necessary, either at your response or his brother’s ridiculous question; the smirk remaining etched on his face even as he stopped snickering.

 

“Wow! At least take her out on a dinner first.”

 

You did not know how you ended up being the target of this conversation, but Dante’s comment had you pursing your lips into a thin line as the male basked in his own cleverness and wit. Vergil did not seem fazed for his mind was perched on a goal and he was motivated to attain it despite the derogatory attitude and belittling tone of his own flesh and blood. You could not meet his eyes; to think having those icy blue orbs looking through your soul had unnerved you earlier— this was on another level entirely, he did not falter, he did not stutter and dutifully observed you even as you shied away.

 

“You foolishness never ceases to amuse me, I’m not interested in realizing your absurd insinuations, Dante. And woman, I  _won’t_  repeat myself.”

 

Pursuing his insinuations?! That was a good thing,  _probably_ , but he made it sound so bad that you doubted yourself and wondered whether you were so sexually  _unappealing_  that he would scoff at the idea for a brief moment, no matter how utterly  _incredulous_  it was of you to do so given the circumstances and the situation which called for your immediate attention. You looked at Dante for help, but he had a hand over his chin and was looking at you as well; the look in his eyes seemed slightly apologetic and he shrugged as if to say that it would be way easier to just  _go along with it._

 

“…Fine.”

 

You did not like it one bit, but common sense triumphed easily after little to no consideration since the cons were utterly obliterated by the pros and you found yourself standing up, turning away from them to rug your shirt above and over your head with a huff. _Pros_ ; they saved you, they were men so much taller and more built than you, they were agile and physically capable, they were swift and experienced, they were quick thinkers who executed their decisions instantaneously and oh, you could not forget the immaterial fact that they were not quite human and unable to be hurt by normal weapons— all of which meant that if they wanted to harm you in any shape or form, they would not need to ask first. _Cons_ ; embarrassment and partial nudity in front of two men, still strangers, anxiety and irrational fear, the throbbing on your knees skyrocketed with your getting up.

 

“Face forward at all costs.”

 

You tugged the shirt over your head but kept your arms in it so you could clutch it to your chest and easily shrug it back on when he was done investigating whatever the hell he needed to— you wanted to look over your shoulder at the demanding male, ask if he was happy, tell him to be over with but you could not find the courage in yourself to face his determination so you let your head hang once again. Cold air brushed over your heated skin and raised goosebumps in its wake, urging you to curl into yourself more. Standing in the middle of the room like that made you nervous.

 

“How long can you hold up?”

 

Vergil’s voice rang and for a moment, you thought he addressed the question to you, until Dante hummed behind you thoughtfully. Hold up _what_? It was a conversation between two people who were more than just acquaintances, friends or even family and this time it was with words, but it did not mean that you were more qualified to understand it simply because it happened to be in a language which you could understand.

 

“Nor for long, still can’t get into the groove. Ten seconds at best?”

 

You could understand from the tone of Dante’s voice that he caught onto what Vergil was getting at, but again, you did not dare ask. Not if it meant they could solve whatever it was that haunted you.

 

“Try it. Establish physical contact.”

 

Maybe you should have been alarmed by Vergil’s words or Dante’s surprising reluctance to go along with _whatever_ it was that they were talking about, but oddly enough, you were just curious as to see what would take place— if only you were allowed to. You wondered the cost of looking back, the price of disobedience. It was probably one you could not afford.

 

“Trust you to keep me in line, V. Seriously, can’t hold out for long.”

 

Vergil huffed a ‘hmph’ in reply, dissatisfied and almost scornful that Dante needed reassurance of his capabilities— he was confident and it spread life wildfire to your very being, enough to keep you standing on your feet when Dante’s calloused, glove-clad palm laid on your bare skin. You felt a shiver run down your spine at his firm touch, the leather cold and worn and fingers warm against your flesh. Even as you heard a snap of fingers and faint lightning ring in the air, you kept your eyes facing forward, focusing on the jukebox in the corner to keep you occupied. Do  _not_  look back. Do  **not**.

 

“Just as I thought…”

 

The sound was followed by a constant stream of distorted buzzing and crackles that tickled your ears. Dante’s hand never left, but it was not as gentle as it used to be. You wondered whether he was digging his blunt nails into your back enough for you to feel the bite of it, but it was sharp and in contrast, almost hard. You did not know for how long you stayed like that, but it was a little over **a minute** when you heard him gasp out.

 

“Holy shit… Don’t tell me this is—”

 

Dante’s voice was just as distorted, otherworldly, dare you say…  _demonic_. You whipped your head back as soon as the soft sound left his lips and took a large step forward to get away from his touch on your skin, eyes wide.

 

You only caught a glimpse of it; red eyes and razor sharp teeth, horns and white accents lining his jaw and head. A gaze so terrifying it rendered you immobile, ominous red aura even brighter in the dark. It was only for half a second that you saw it before his hair fell back over his face and red disintegrated to form his attire and human flesh; his head was thrown back and all you saw was his angular jaw before his eyes, blue as the skies once again, landed on your widened ones— cautious, fearful.

 

“Just what the  _hell_  are you?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That took... a while to get done. Hope you like it, I would love to hear your thoughts and comments down below.


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